A Matter of Loyalty
by Noraneko94
Summary: Arthur wakes up in the forest with a headache and more questions than answers. How did he end up here? And why can't Merlin just let him sleep? Can be read as a one-shot, but is part of a series I'm working on along with A Matter of Trust (part 1 in the series). Mostly focuses on Arthur and Merlin, but other characters make an appearance. No slash, rated T cause I'm paranoid.


Arthur groaned at the cursed sunlight that assaulted him the second he tried to pry his eyes open. The brightness did nothing for the monstrous headache he felt. He knew he was king, and that he therefore had his duties to his kingdom, but was one day spent in bed with his wife watching over him too much to ask for?

''Arthur?''

Granted, the gentle whisper was significantly better than Merlin's usual ''Up you get!'' or ''Let's have you, lazy daisy!'', but Arthur just wanted five more minutes of sleep.

As he tried to turn away from both the irritable sunlight and the equally irritable servant, he finally noticed something wasn't right. Or several 'somethings':

Firstly, he was missing the distinct warm embrace of Guinevere lying next to him. The servant turned queen often got out of bed before him, but not without a good morning kiss first, and he honestly could not remember getting one.

The second thing that bothered him was the cold. He could feel something draped over him, yet it felt thinner than his royal sheets. That discovery quickly led him to the next one, being that his mattress was, quite frankly, not there. What should feel like blissful softness underneath his back felt more like a slightly damp array of moss and twigs. Had he fallen asleep in the forest? If so, he could not remember what he had been doing there, or why he had not at least retreated into his bedroll first.

''Arthur, can you hear me?''

The king was getting increasingly annoyed at his friend's desperate (and why _did_ Merlin sound so desperate?) attempts to rouse him.

''L'mme sleep…'' Arthur mumbled.

Okay, that hadn't come out quite as smoothly as he'd intended, but could anyone blame him for being a bit groggy first thing in the morning?

''You can sleep when we get back to Camelot, Arthur, but I need you awake right now.''

Arthur groaned once more when he felt Merlin remove the thin blanket (?) that had been covering him, and he meagrely tried to roll over and reach for it again when a jolt of pain flared up from his left ankle. He could now feel his servant's hands on him, gently moving him to lie back down on his back as he gasped in agony.

''Take this, it will help with the pain.''

Before Arthur could say anything, there was a small vial pressed softly against his lips. Despite feeling increasingly disoriented and confused, he trusted the cold hand supporting the back of his head, so he parted his lips slightly and allowed his servant to slowly pour the potion into his mouth. That didn't mean he would not grimace at the foul taste of the liquid.

''Think you can open your eyes for me now?'' Merlin asked shortly after.

He honestly did not want to, but part of him wondered if opening his eyes would somehow help him figure out what exactly was going on, so he reluctantly obliged. To say that it was an unpleasant experience was an understatement.

It was as if the world around him had decided to be a whirlpool of colours, each blur far too bright for his splitting headache. One of the blurs, a distinct blur with darkness on the top and blue and red below, was towering over him (observing him?), and Arthur decided to focus on it.

He tried to blink away some of the haziness, but every time his eyelids fluttered shut; it became harder to open them again. In the end he simply kept them closed again, deciding that the darkness his eyelids provided was much preferable.

''s too bright…'' The king whimpered (Not that he'd ever admit it. He was too strong to whimper).

He could hear the blur, which he now realised had looked a lot like his servant, working next to him. He could hear him uncork something and dreaded another potion, but none came. Instead, he listened as some of the liquid, whatever it was, was poured out of its container, he could hear drops hitting the forest ground, as something was wringed out.

Arthur flinched slightly as the cool cloth was draped over his eyes and thin hands made quick work to tie the corners of the cloth securely around the back of his head, but the coolness was quickly soothing his headache, and the added darkness was a welcome gift.

''You still need to stay awake, you hear me?''

The king groaned once more, but the urgency in his friend's voice made him keen to oblige. As he heard Merlin rustling with something next to him, Arthur attempted to put the puzzle pieces together, but the haziness and confusion remained.

''What happened?'' Arthur uttered finally.

''What is the last thing you remember?'' Merlin responded.

Leave it to Merlin to answer his question with another question, Arthur thought grumpily. Still, he decided to humour the younger man, and his brow creased as he urged his brain to provide him with the memory.

''We went on a hunting trip.''

He was a little bit surprised at how easily that had come to him, but that still did not explain why he was now lying on the ground with a splitting headache and a slightly less sore ankle (was that the potion kicking in?).

''Two days of fun and relaxation, you called it.'' Merlin chuckled sarcastically.

''Two days of boredom and blisters, I think you renamed it.'' Arthur remembered.

''I was wrong about the boredom.'' Merlin quipped, and the blond could picture him shrugging. ''Do you remember what happened next?''

''Not really.'' Arthur admitted after a moment of contemplation.

He could see snippets of a memory: a campfire, a twig snapping nearby, and metal hitting metal… The rustling next to him had stopped sometime during his pondering, and he jumped slightly when he felt a pair of hands gently pulling him to sit up against a tree.

''Don't worry about it too much, we both know using your brain gives you a headache on the best of days.'' His servant teased kindly.

Arthur was pleased to feel the thin fabric that had been his blanket not long ago being draped around his shoulders once more, engulfing him in relative warmth. Though the coolness of the wet blindfold certainly helped against the pressure he felt behind his eyelids, the morning breeze was deceivingly frosty, and it had left him shivering slightly.

''Merlin, what are you doing?'' The blond asked.

He could feel his own arms being wrapped around slender shoulders, his chest made to lean against a familiar tattered jacket.

''I'm taking you back to Camelot.'' The servant stated matter-of-factly.

''Merlin, just fetch me my horse and I'll climb on it myself.'' Arthur ordered.

''We lost the horses.''

Arthur was about to berate Merlin for losing their horses somehow when another piece of the puzzle revealed itself to him. He remembered shouting shortly after the twig had snapped close to their camp. He had unsheathed his sword just as a crossbow bolt had narrowly missed him, embedding itself in the tree behind him.

There were still many blanks in his memory, but he distinctly remembered his servant supporting him as they ran through the forest, frantic footsteps following closely behind them.

He was once again drawn back to the present as Merlin lifted him up and slowly began to walk, the strain on the leaner man's body obvious with each step.

''Merlin, you can't carry me back to Camelot, it would take you at least a day on foot without the added weight.'' Arthur wasn't certain how he knew how far they were from home, but it seemed accurate enough.

''Did you just call yourself fat, sire?'' Merlin retorted bemusedly.

''_Mer_lin!'' Arthur winced at the loudness of his own voice echoing through his head.

''It'll be fine, Arthur,'' Merlin assured him confidently as he slowly trudged on. ''If we're not back by nightfall, a search party will surely be sent out. We just have to stay close to the main path so we can meet them halfway.''

''So why not wait for them to find us here?'' Arthur questioned.

''Well, for starters, we're nowhere near any roads at the moment, so it would be hard to find us.'' Merlin began; shifting his grip on his sovereign slightly and lifting Arthur slightly further up his back.

''Then there's the fact that you need to let Gaius have a look at that ankle and head wound.''

Okay, so that was why his head felt the way it did. Arthur once again vaguely remembered someone calling out for him before something hard had slammed against his right temple.

''Anything else?'' Arthur asked, genuinely curious why his friend was so eager to carry him.

''Well I'd rather not run into anymore bandits, if that's alright with you, sire?'' Merlin responded with a chuckle.

Oh.

''I suppose that makes sense…'' He agreed reluctantly.

''Glad we're on the same page.''

Silence fell between them for a while, and Arthur subconsciously found himself resting his head on Merlin's shoulder. With each step, Arthur found himself admiring his servant's resolve and strength. He had known for a while now that his servant was a lot stronger than people (including himself) gave him credit for, but feeling Merlin marching on despite the sweat that was now slowly starting to soak even _his _tunic hardened Arthur's resolve to tease his friend less about his supposed weakness.

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There was a soft knock on the door. Gwen looked up from her paperwork, calling for the person on the other side to come in as she placed her quill back in the pot of ink.

''Your highness,'' Sir Leon greeted politely, though his small bow alerted Guinevere of the urgency behind whatever report would follow.

''What is it, Leon?'' She asked warmly, a sense of dread creeping up on her like a cold winter shadow.

''One of the patrols reported discovering a horse without its rider this morning.'' Leon began, eyes dark and jaw clenched. ''They returned it to Camelot immediately.''

''Whose horse it is?'' The queen urged, though she already knew the answer.

''It is Merlin's mare, My Lady.'' Leon confirmed grimly. ''There was no sign of either him or the king nearby.''

Gwen stood from her chair, brushing an invisible crease from her dress before nervously pacing the room. Arthur and Merlin had set out on a hunting trip early the previous morning, and Gwen had reassured her husband that she would look after all regal duties in his absence.

She had seen how stressed her lover had been lately, and she'd hoped that a few days away with Merlin would do him good, that it would remind him of the days when it had been just the two of them. Now she feared for both their lives.

''Take however many men you need.'' She turned to Leon, keeping her chin up as she tried in vain to hide her concern. ''Perhaps ask Gaius for some supplies as well.''

''Yes, your highness.'' Leon bowed once more, and was about to leave the room when Gwen called his attention once more.

''Bring them home.'' She pleaded her friend.

''Of course.'' Leon assured her, determination burning in his eyes.

It was only an hour later that Guinevere watched Leon, Percival, Gwaine, and Elyan riding out of the main gate, two extra horses tethered to two of their own.

They rode in the direction they knew Merlin and Arthur had gone just over a day before them, tension thick in the air between them as they all mulled over what could have happened.

''I'm starting to understand why Merlin hates going on those hunting trips so much.'' Gwaine snorted half-heartedly, attempting to lighten the mood a little as they went deeper into the forest.

''Do you think it is Arthur or Merlin who attracts trouble?'' Elyan chimed in, and so the knights found themselves recalling past events.

Percival argued that Arthur was surely the one drawing out the dangers of the world, with Merlin getting caught in the crossfire, whereas Leon pointed out that things had certainly become more eventful ever since Merlin had appeared in their lives, therefore marking him as the unintentional bringer of bad luck. In the end, they decided that both men had an equal knack for stumbling into unfortunate situations.

Still, they also remembered all the times that they had found themselves in these dangerous mishaps along with their friends, and had started to wonder if Arthur and Merlin were 'bad luck' for getting into trouble in the first place, or 'extremely good luck' for surviving time and again.

This, somehow, got them more focused on the youngest member of their group (cause as far as the knights were concerned, Merlin was one of them) than on their king. Each one of them had stories of the clumsy servant; stories of evil sorcerers thwarted and dragons slain, stories of a single man following his king into the perilous lands without so much as a dagger to defend himself. Though none of them dared to say it, all of them knew that there was a part of their friend that they had yet to see, though they could not quite place their finger on it.

They had been riding for half a day, their conversations having died out again little over an hour ago. With the silence, the tension had returned, and each of them was on high alert for any signs of their missing friends. As the sun began to set, Leon reluctantly ordered them to a halt, diverting slightly from the main road where they would tether their horses to the trees and set up camp for the night.

None of them were too pleased to give up for the day, but they knew that continuing in the dark would be a risk. Not only would it be difficult to follow any possible tracks they might come across, they might actually miss something that could lead them to their friends.

Gwaine and Percival had been collecting firewood, having left Elyan to look after the horses and Leon to lie out their bedrolls and prepare their supper, when a branch snapped on the other side of the creek.

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Arthur creased his brow in confusion. Why was he breathing so loudly? Had he had a nightmare? Somehow, that did not feel right. Sleep had been bliss, momentarily making him unaware of the pounding of each footstep echoing in his head. And whose footsteps were they? Part of him was aware that his legs were, in fact, not even touching the ground. Then it slowly came back to him. Something about a hunting trip… Bandits… Merlin carrying him…

''M'rlin?'' He slurred slightly, licking his dry lips.

''Glad to hear you're awake again, Arthur.'' Merlin panted.

Ah. So it was Merlin who was breathing so loudly, not him. Arthur tried to open his eyes to figure out why Merlin was so out of breath, but quickly remembered the blindfold that Merlin had applied to keep the light from assaulting his eyes.

Preferring the darkness, the king groaned softly as the footsteps resonated in his head once more.

''-s too loud…'' He mumbled.

''Sorry.'' Merlin whispered, misunderstanding what had been too loud.

''Not you.'' Arthur grumbled. ''Footsteps. They're too loud.''

''I'll try and walk softer, shall I?'' Merlin snorted softly. Arthur couldn't quite figure out what was so humorous.

''What happened?'' He asked.

''This again?'' This time he could _hear _the smirk on his friend's face.

''_Mer_lin…'' He warned weakly.

''We went on a hunting trip…'' Merlin began, though Arthur quickly remembered the conversation they'd had the last time he'd come to, more pieces slowly slotting into the fragmented memory.

''We were ambushed.''

''You're catching on quickly.'' Merlin quipped, though there was a hint of relief in his voice.

''You're carrying me.'' Arthur stated, realisation dawning on him.

''An excellent observation, sire.''

''How long have you been carrying me?'' Arthur enquired, opting to ignore the sarcastic remark.

''Couple of hours?'' The uncertainty in his servant's voice made him wonder just how Merlin could have lost track of time while carrying another man.

''You should rest…'' Arthur noted, once again reminded of Merlin's laboured breathing in the silence.

''I'm fine…'' Merlin mumbled unconvincingly.

Part of Arthur wanted to slap his friend on the head and order him to stop, but somehow he could not find the words to do so. It was obvious that Merlin was exhausted, if the laboured breathing and the sweat soaking the front of his tunic were anything to go by, but Arthur once again marvelled at his friend's unwavering determination to get them to safety.

He had been about to actually _thank _his friend for his efforts when he felt Merlin tense beneath him, his until now steady march coming to a sudden halt. His instincts kicking in, Arthur listened intently for what had seemingly alerted his servant.

He could hear the wind rustling the leaves of the canopy above, the calmness of a small stream up ahead, and then he heard the footsteps. Arthur's heart was racing, and he was about to silently urge Merlin to lower him to the ground when a twig snapped right under the servant's foot.

His blood ran cold as he heard something falling to the forest floor, quickly followed by the sound of swords unsheathing.

''Who goes there?!'' Came an all too familiar voice.

''Gwaine?!'' Said Merlin and Arthur simultaneously.

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Gwaine and Percival quickly dropped the wood they'd been collecting and pulled out their swords, moving closer together before approaching the creek where they had both heard the branch snapping.

Gwaine had called out first, inching closer until he could see a shadow moving closer ever so slowly. Then the shadow had called back to them, and Gwaine and Percival had exchanged a glance of utter disbelief.

Merlin was _carrying_ Arthur, though it looked like the relief that had probably washed away his surge of adrenaline along with the strength he needed to keep it up.

Gwaine and Percival almost moved as one, rushing forward to catch Merlin and Arthur before they collapsed onto the forest ground. Merlin was laughing softly as Gwaine guided him to sit down, his limbs shivering violently. Percival supported the king, slowly urging his sovereign to unwrap his arms from the servant's shoulders.

''He twisted his ankle and got hit over the head pretty hard…'' Merlin rasped, relaying his assessment of his friend's injuries.

Merlin gasped softly when Percival succeeded to remove Arthur's weight from his back. Gwaine placed a gentle hand on the younger man's shoulder, reassuring him that they were safe.

''He's lost consciousness a few times, so I fear he's got a pretty severe concussion.''

''What about the blood?'' Percival asked anxiously.

Gwaine frowned, but even in the fading sunlight he could see the dark red stains on Arthur's tunic. The sheer amount of blood made him slightly sick to his stomach, and if it hadn't been for the fact that he had heard the king speak his name only moments ago, he would have wondered if Merlin had not been carrying a corpse.

''That… might be mine…''

Before Gwaine could fully register what his friend had just said, he could feel Merlin's forehead slumping against his shoulder. One glance at the man's back made Gwaine's eyes widen in horror: there was a large gash running all the way down from Merlin's right shoulder blade down to his left hip. Blood was oozing lazily from the cut, and it had been doing so for a long time if the man's scarily pale skin and both their crimson stained tunics were any indication.

''Wha- Merlin!'' Gwaine realised Arthur had removed the neckerchief-made-blindfold (why had he been wearing a blindfold in the first place? Right, Merlin had said something about a concussion, and Gwaine knew from personal experience how sensitive one could become to light because of it).

''It's not as bad as it looks…'' Merlin mumbled into Gwaine's shoulder.

''You- That-'' Arthur stammered, and had he not been so worried about both their injuries, Gwaine would have found Arthur's dumbfound expression extremely amusing.

For now, he wanted nothing more but to get them both into a warm bed, healing under the watchful eye of Gaius (and the knights, of course, because if either one of them thought that any of them would let the two out of their sights for even a second in the weeks to come, they were gravely mistaken).

Looking over at Percival and receiving a nod in approval, Gwaine made quick work out of manoeuvring Merlin onto his back to carry him to their camp. Percival had, much to the king's annoyance, simply scooped the sovereign into his arms, and Gwaine struggled to bite back a joke about Arthur being carried like a princess. It was time to bring their friends home.

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Arthur had been confined to his chambers for three days after their return, and the concussion, which Merlin had rightly diagnosed, was slowly beginning to settle. Three days was an awful lot of time for Arthur to run over the events in his head, and the memories had become clearer with each passing day.

He remembered fighting off two bandits at the same time when he'd tripped over a rock and twisted his ankle. On his way down, he had penetrated his sword through the first attacker's abdomen, but he'd been too late to defend himself from the second attacker's blow to the head, despite Merlin's warning cry.

He'd been in and out of consciousness for the remainder of their battle and their escape, but he had a distinct memory of Merlin actually _defending him, _as well as off the cry of agony when a sword had struck his friend in the back, though what had happened next was still a hazy blur.

To say that miraculous escapes were a common occurrence since Merlin had come into his life was an understatement. When Leon had been keeping vigil at Arthur's bed (to ensure that Guinevere would get her much needed rest as well as to ease his own nerves), the knight had reiterated the discussion they had had as they'd been looking for Arthur and Merlin. Arthur had to agree that there was a mixture of extremely good and bad luck when Merlin was involved.

On the morning of the fourth day, after his breakfast with Guinevere, Arthur found himself limping down the corridors and towards the physician's chambers. He knocked on the door once, opening it nervously (_why _was he nervous?!) once Gaius called him in.

''Ah, sire!'' Gaius greeted warmly, placing a vial on the worktop and removing his glasses. ''Is something wrong? Do you need something for the headaches?''

''The headaches are fine, Gaius.'' Arthur reassured the man, hesitantly glancing to the door at the other end of the room. ''Is Merlin awake?''

''I believe so, but he's not quite fit to return to his duties yet.''

''That's fine, I only wish to speak with him.'' Arthur assured the physician.

Gaius raised an eyebrow, but a small smile was tugging at the older man's lips and he nodded silently.

Arthur silently slipped into the small bedroom, not wanting to wake his servant if he'd fallen back asleep. He nearly lost all his courage when he saw Merlin lying on his chest in the bed, sheets pulled up to his hips. His torso was wrapped in white bandages, and Arthur was suddenly reminded of his discoveries that summer.

He was about to turn around and leave again when piercing blue eyes met his own, eyelids having fluttered open at the involuntary creak of the door.

''Arthur.'' Merlin seemed a little surprised, his brow mimicking Gaius' previous expression almost flawlessly. ''How are you feeling?''

Arthur laughed. Of course Merlin would ask him about his wellbeing first.

''I'm fine, Merlin.'' He answered calmly, moving closer so he could sit down on the stool near the bed. The book that had been left on the floor directly next to the seat revealed stories of Gaius watching over his ward as he rested.

''Good.'' Merlin mumbled, almost dozing off again until he found another question he apparently wanted to ask his king. ''Did you need anything?''

''Actually, yes.'' Arthur responded thoughtfully, raising a hand to stop Merlin from moving or speaking. ''You carried me back to safety when I was injured, despite your own injuries obviously causing you distress.''

''I-'' Merlin began, but this time a single glance from Arthur was enough to shut the man up.

''What you did, was…'' Arthur took a deep breath, but when the words finally came out, he was surprised at how appropriate they felt. ''It was extremely brave. _You _were extremely brave, Merlin, and extremely loyal. So there's only one thing I need to say.''

Merlin glanced at him with such bewilderment at receiving the compliment that Arthur almost laughed again. And the king would never admit it, but the _proud _smile on his friend's face that followed his words made him feel warm to the core.

''Thank you, Merlin.''

**A/N: Thank you very much for reading my story! **

**There is a slight hint to my previous one-shot **_**A Matter of Trust **_**at the end. **

**There will be at least one more one-shot (though possibly more?) in this series. I'm aiming for these one-shots to be read either as stand alones or as a series, so people can decide how they want to read them.**

**For anyone also reading my NCIS fic **_**Without a Trace: **_**my wrist has been healing slowly (as you can tell by this new one-shot), so I will be starting that up again soon! I'm still writing with a splint on though, so it's a bit awkward at times… oops.**

**Thanks again!**


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